The Only Exception
by McEvoyer
Summary: Olicity. Oliver has been keeping Felicity at a distance for her safety but one day, just as they're having a normal conversation - like they do everyday - he realizes just how much Felicity means to him. Maybe fluff? I'm not entirely sure how to classify this!


_And I've always lived like this,_

_Keeping a comfortable distance,_

_And up until now_

_I had sworn to myself that I'm content_

_With loneliness_

_Because none of it was ever worth the risk_

The morning sun spilled through the vast windows of Oliver's office, washing over everything like a wave. He sat at his desk, not really paying attention to the documents, but still grasping the general gist so that he wouldn't be completely insufferable in his first meeting. He was just _so tired. _Being the Arrow was draining enough but when he spent hours upon hours, days upon days chasing down leads and getting involved in physical altercations – which normally led to injury – it took a toll on him on so many levels. His body ached in places he didn't think could ache anymore, his eyes could barely focus on anything and his head felt as though it was being weighed down by a boulder. To be perfectly honest, the last thing Oliver wanted to do that morning was to attend meetings and shake hands with men who had more money than sense and talk about figures and estimates and _business_. Never a fan of it to begin with, the more he launched himself into QC and being CEO, the more he realized that business would just be another facet of his world that sucked the life out of him.

Wow, he was in a _great _mood.

Though most times the light was welcome, today it was irritating. It was just too…bright. Too cheery, too shiny. Too much of everything. He dropped his head to the desk with a dull thud, his shoulders dropping and his hands hanging down loosely as if he was a puppet waiting to be given an order by his master. It was uncomfortable sure, but he found a quiet solace in the semi-reprieve that the blotchy darkness allowed him.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that; it could have been hours for all he knew. All he did know, however, was that he enjoyed every second. Even the throb that had started in between his shoulder blades and subsequently moved to either side of his back didn't bother him. Truth be told, he probably could have stayed there all day but the clacking of heels on the floor pulled him back to reality. He didn't need to look up to know who it was and that fact alone immediately made him feel lighter.

"Wow, that really doesn't look comfortable," Felicity remarked. Her voice was soft and light and Oliver often thought that if he could liken her fluffy lilt to an actual physical item, it'd be a pillow. Yes, Felicity Smoak's voice was like a pillow. "Is it comfortable? I mean, I guess it could be since you haven't moved since I've started talking and maybe I should stop because you're probably asleep and I've just been talking to myself the whole time…" Her voice grew quieter as her ramble went on until it was nothing but a whisper floating in the air between them.

Oliver laughed once; a breathy sound that sounded louder to him because it echoed off the papers he was currently using as a make-shift pillow. "It's okay Felicity, I'm awake." Slowly, he pulled himself upright, a small smile gracing his face.

He couldn't help it – smiling, that was. She just had this way of cutting through all of his layers and reaching the tiny part of him that still believed in hope. It was almost as if she could see right through him, right down to his very core, to the bare bones that held his frame together, somehow reading him as easily as if he was a book. She saw things in him that others didn't – that not even _he _did. He may not agree with her view of him, but her belief in him was enough to spur on his intent to be worthy of that view. To be the person she saw every day she looked at him with those eyes that he could spend an eternity exploring. Nobody had ever had that kind of effect on him before. It was remarkable.

_She _was remarkable.

And when she returned the smile with such warmth and affection, he felt…safer, almost. It was an unusual feeling that started in his pit of his stomach and spread through the rest of his body rapidly; anchoring him, steadying him. Unusual, but in a good way.

"Well…" she started, moving toward his desk again, "you've looked better." Before he could react to her words, she squeezed her eyes shut. "Not that you don't look good – I mean, you always look good; you're Oliver Queen, you were born with ridiculous cheekbones and a jaw that was carved out of marble and I think I might have overstepped a boundary so I'm going to shut up now."

Pushing his chair back, and making it screech across the tiles in doing so, he coughed to cover a laugh and rose to his feet. "I didn't really sleep well," he offered by way of explanation for his appearance.

_Apparently_ he had looked better.

"Me neither," she replied with a dismissive wave of the papers she held in her hand. He cocked his head to the side in curiosity, prompting her to elaborate. She willingly obliged. "I can never get a good night's sleep when we're on a high profile Arrow case. I keep waking up to check my updates and running scans and then sometimes I have nightmares but that's only sometimes."

To those who didn't know Felicity the way he did, the comment about the nightmares would have slipped right by them, like debris caught in the current of a flowing stream, but Oliver noted the slight shift in her tone, and the way her eyes darted away from him for just a split-second, and the way the tension in her knuckles intensified so that her fingers left heavy indentations on the pages.

He crossed the room to where she was, standing a comfortable distance from her so that he wasn't invading her personal space but still close enough to touch her.

"You have nightmares?" he asked, his voice low and concerned. Needing to do something with his hands, he closed the buttons on his suit jacket and straightened the arms to get rid of the creases that had made a home there.

Felicity pushed up her glasses self-consciously. "Only sometimes," she admitted sheepishly. "They're nothing to worry about. I'm a big girl; I can handle a few bad dreams."

"You shouldn't be having them at all," he muttered darkly under his breath, craning his neck, flexing the muscles.

"Oliver it's okay. Like I said, I can handle them. Trust me they have nothing on the nightmares I used to have as a kid. Without getting into too many specifics there were creepy witches and wolves and a forest and a unicorn for some reason..." She shuddered for a moment, a whole body movement. Oliver gazed at her wistfully, lost in her scrunched expression. It was amazing how many facial gestures she could make. "Whenever I get super anxious I always have that dream and nothing but a scoop of mint chip ice cream will calm me down."

He eyed her curiously. "Is that why you keep a pint of it in the mini-fridge in the Foundry?"

She hummed in affirmation. "You never know when you might need it."

His lips twitched but part of him flared at her confession. She shouldn't have to deal with what he does outside of her life with him. She wasn't supposed to be touched by his darkness. He was supposed to protect her - he vowed to protect her. And he had failed her.

How many times had she been hurt? How many times had he allowed her to be dangled in front of a psychopath like a gift? How many times had he found her drained, wrecked, because of the pressure he put on her?

The answer was simple.

Too many.

His crusade was his cross to bear. What he did was dangerous and her working with him, being in such close proximity with him, automatically put her in danger. Felicity was like a ray of sunshine in his world of darkness. She was the embodiment of happiness, of lightness, of everything he wished he could have in an ideal world.

But his world was far from ideal.

And now his damaged soul, his broken life, had tarnished the one good thing to stumble into his life. Oliver Queen was the one black spot on the canvass of Felicity Smoak's life.

He knew he should let her go. Tell her to find a better life, meet someone she could love forever and who would love her back wholeheartedly and give her everything she could ever want. Tell her that he wasn't the hero she thought he was.

But he couldn't.

And it wasn't because he was selfish, even though a large part of him feel prey to that deadly sin, or because he didn't have the courage to do so; he couldn't because he knew _she _wouldn't go. The work they were doing was good work. They _were _making a difference. And he knew Felicity loved that about her life. The look of pride she got when they had taken down some notorious, malevolent foe made his own heart burst. She believed in herself with what they did.

He couldn't let her go because she wanted to be there. She chose this life, too. No matter how he felt about her being around him and the imminent danger they inevitably faced every day, she refused to back down, refused to be spooked. He didn't make decisions for her. He didn't dictate her reasoning.

Felicity Smoak was incredibly strong and he admired her all the more for that.

Yet, even knowing all that, Oliver _had _to keep her safe. He just had to. And closing himself down to the possibility of being with someone he could really care about, of being with _Felicity_, was the only way he could think of that would suffice. His life was like a ticking bomb, tiding over until the inescapable explosion. And Felicity definitely couldn't be caught in the crossfire. Being in a relationship with him was only going to end badly. Either he'd be hurt or…she would and that wasn't an option to him.

He made peace with that decision when they came back from Russia, but watching her heart break as he punctured the air with his solemn words twisted a knot in his stomach, his heart at war with his brain. As time wore on it only became more difficult, more complicated, less black and white and…more grey. His feelings were alien to him; new and confusing and all-consuming.

She tested him, intimidated him, called him out on his crap, kept his focus and meant more to him than he ever thought imaginable. Never backing down, she made he knew sure where his priorities laid, where his moral judgement of right and wrong stood, where their vision could go.

She made him better – in every sense of the word.

And there were times, more often than not, that he just wanted to toss his words aside, throw caution to the wind and tell the woman that he wanted to be with her, to give their relationship a tentative start, to allow himself to fall in love with the girl he cared about.

Maybe he could do it. Maybe _they _could do it. Defy all the odds and make it through. Be together. Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak.

"Oliver?" Felicity's pondering voice yanked him from his haze. He met her eyes. "I was talking about the figures for your nine o'clock and then you went all…" She swung her hands around ending with a punt in his direction. The movements in general didn't make any actual sense but he understood them nevertheless.

"I'm sorry. I was thinking."

"Wow, Oliver Queen thinking – now there's a first," she teased.

He nodded, the lines on his forehead smoothing. "Nice."

With an appreciative smirk, she thrust the papers she had flailing about in his direction. "Anyway it's all there in black and white. The colour copier was broken." He took them then, fanning them and catching glimpses of numbers and words and things he probably should have locked down much earlier. "So you all set? I know it's a pretty big meeting."

"It feels like every meeting is a big meeting."

"That's probably because they are," she supplied. "But you'll do great. Just like you always do. Must be that Queen charm."

Oliver's eyebrows hiked, his lips tugging upwards. "I try my best. But should have seen my dad in action; he could close any merger, forge any deal with the biggest clients as easy as he could breathe. As much as I think I'm doing a good job, I know he'd be doing better." He never intended for that to slip out, it just happened as if it was absolutely natural for him to do so.

"You don't know that." The woman was defiant and she stepped closer to him, her hands interlocked in front of her. "I saw you when you started as CEO and yeah, maybe you weren't all that comfortable, but I see you now and you're the real deal, Oliver. I know you don't exactly enjoy what you do but you have a head for business and you understand the company's needs and that, to me, is a sign of a great leader. Your father would be proud of you."

The words seemed to take the breath from him, instantly breaking down the tension that nestled in his shoulders. It was amazing how powerful words could be; Oliver didn't know how much he needed to hear those particular words until she had said them. And in his revelation, he reached out and pulled the blonde into his arms, cradling her head with one of his hands while the other rested on her lower back keeping her in place. Only a few seconds of hesitation passed before she hugged him back, but her hold was less assured, more timid. Briefly he let his thoughts wander to how perfectly she fit with his body, how her head tucked seamlessly under his chin, how warm she was.

It was just _right._

"Thank you," he breathed and she tugged him tighter in response.

Oliver broke away first but kept a hand on her shoulder, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. She was flustered, visibly so, running hands though her hair and smoothing out her dress as if they had been caught doing something unprofessional. "Oh," she said suddenly, her hands drifting toward his chest. He peered down at her in confusion. "Your tie," she mumbled, straightening it so that it was centred against his shirt. "It was askew."

"Thanks," he repeated, noting how the sunlight framed her face so perfectly. He suppressed the urge to caress her cheek with his hand. Instead, he moved away, wanting to give her space – and himself some too. "So I have a question," he posed, changing the subject.

"Fire away." He tried not to focus on the waver in her voice.

"It's Thea's birthday in a couple of days and I still haven't found anything that I think she'd like. I don't suppose you have any suggestions?"

His partner brought a finger to her lips, her eyes downcast in contemplation. "Hmm, what to get the girl who literally has everything?

"Literally," he reiterated. "Except for maybe that pony she asked for when she was eight…"

"You wouldn't!"

He chuckled. "No way. Thea with a pony would be a disaster, trust me."

"Well, it sounds to me that you should get her something money can't buy," she suggested with a shrug.

He leaned forward slightly. "You do realize you just said that to a billionaire right?"

"Oh I'm more than aware of that considering every time your name is mentioned in the media it's always preceded by the word 'billionaire'. It's like they can't say your name without acknowledging the obscene amount of money your family has." She jerked then, as if the movement could erase what she had just said. Oliver just let out another chuckle and she followed suit, their laughs mingling for the shortest time, creating something musical that bounced off the walls of his office. "What I meant was that I think Thea would really appreciate something from the heart. Like, when I turned sixteen my cousin made me scrapbook; it was full pictures of me and my friends and she had written in stories from our childhood - and it was just amazing. She didn't spend a dime but I loved it. I think Thea would like something of that sentiment."

And then inspiration hit him. She really was something special.

"You know what? I think so too." He sat on the edge of his desk, one leg planted firmly on the ground, the other hovering just above it. "In fact, I might have an idea."

Her expression was open, expectant. "Really? Do share."

"There used to be a picture of me and Thea in the lounge – it sat on top of the fireplace, and it was taken the day Thea was born. I was holding her awkwardly and my smile was so wide it looked like my bones were going to snap." He snickered, remembering how his parents had practically yelled when he held her first, terrified he'd drop their bundle of joy. "Thea said it was her favourite photo of us _ever_ but when I was eighteen, Tommy and I…" his throat constricted just the tiniest bit as he said his name, "…we were goofing around and somehow knocked it over into the fire. Don't ask me how we did it…but it happened. Thea was devastated." He looked up, finding solace in Felicity's tender stare. "What she doesn't know is that I've had a copy of that picture in my room all these years. I never got around to finding a replacement frame. I think now would be the time to find one."

Felicity beamed. "I think you're right."

"Help me pick one out?" he asked before his brain had time to catch up with him.

She opened her mouth and then closed it again swiftly, a little wrinkle forming in the centre of her forehead. "Of course," she replied eventually, sounding touched that he had asked for her help. "I mean, what are Executive Assistants for, right?"

"Felicity you're more than my EA, you know that."

Her answering smile was dazzling.

Oliver's heart fluttered.

That was the moment it solidified it for him. It wasn't due to some tense situation or some deep conversation – it just happened. It was just like it hit him out of nowhere. Like a bolt of lightning striking a lone tree on an otherwise barren landscape.

Like a miracle.

Felicity Smoak was his miracle.

The only exception in his dark world.

And he couldn't deny it any longer.

"Anyway," she said, shaking her head, making her ponytail sway from side to side, "I better go do some work."

She turned and started walking toward the door that separated his office from her desk.

"Felicity," he called out, loving the way her name just tripped off his tongue so naturally. As if he had been saying it his whole life. She whirled around to face him, her eyes searching. He rose from the desk but couldn't find it in him to go over to her. Clearing his throat he continued, "I was thinking I might get lunch out today. Would you like to join me?"

Her head tilted to the side. "You want grab lunch out?"

"Yeah." When did his voice suddenly raise an octave?

"Oh, well…sure. It's a date – I mean not a _date, _date just that we're going out to-"

"Felicity," Oliver interrupted, smiling genuinely. "It's a date."

Her eyes widened so much they looked as though they'd pop out, her smile incredible. "Okay. It's…it's a date."

He'd be lying if he said his smile wasn't permanently plastered on his face for the rest of the day.

_Well, you are_

_The only exception_

_(…)_

_And I'm on my way to believing_


End file.
